


Non Sequitur

by MKK



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Deception, Dom/sub Play, Imprisonment, M/M, Mirror Universe, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Touching, Sexual Roleplay, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-17 04:57:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2297393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MKK/pseuds/MKK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elim Garak and Julian Bashir attempt to come to terms with vivid, disturbing dreams they had been compelled to undergo, early in their relationship.  But what seems to be such a logical way to accomplish their recovery instead brings problems all its own, much to their surprise.</p><p>This is the sequel to my story "Quid Pro Quo."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story, also from a zine, is the sequel to my story [Quid Pro Quo](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2246880/chapters/4930545) \- That story took place almost entirely inside Garak's and Bashir's minds; this one is set in "real life," but as it's a Garak/Bashir story, real life takes many interesting little turns. This story is less intense and somewhat less serious than the first one, but on the other hand, it veers into non-consensual territory rather quickly and puts the boys through a little torment again after all. I just couldn't help it. Oh, and it takes place before any of the Mirror Universe episodes.
> 
> And now - the sequel to Quid Pro Quo: Non Sequitur ("it does not follow.")

"You, Julian, are incredible. Absolutely incredible. Do you know that? You're so deliciously warm... and smooth... and soft... You are truly the most fantastic lover a Cardassian could ever wish for... And you're BIG, too! I don't even think a Klingon could compare with you... not even... mmmm... Gowron himself... I'll just have to content myself with touching you... and tasting you..."

"GARAK!" Julian Bashir shouted, and reared backward against the headboard of the bed. "STOP it! I asked you not to bite me that hard! That HURTS, damn it! I told you that twice already." Garak sat up, amusement in his clear blue eyes. "And stop smiling at me like that; I know you were making fun of me just now. I'm not stupid, you know. 'Gowron himself'??"

"Well... it's certainly POSSIBLE, my dear doc- my dear master. I've never actually seen Gowron's -"

"Oh, and you can stop that too. This isn't working. This is getting completely ridiculous, in fact. I'm not your master, so you can dispense with the obsequious compliments."

"On the contrary, I was simply trying to repay you for your flattering words to ME last night."

"Yes, but in that case, they were true. At least I thought so at the time." Bashir grinned. "You really are quite outside the, ah, 'human norm,' you know." Elim Garak, about to respond with a sarcastic comment, smiled in pleased self-satisfaction.

"Oh, you like that, do you?" Bashir's smile widened.

"Yes - thank you, Julian - master."

"You're welcome. But please stop calling me that, Garak, I mean it. It doesn't suit you at all. I always think you're ridiculing me when you say it."

"Ridiculing you?" Garak feigned a look of shocked indignation. "I'm simply trying to thoroughly enter into the spirit of these little adventures. After all, wasn't it you who said we'd never work through these feelings we harbor toward each other without making these evenings as much like the dreams as reasonably possible?"

"Yes, I DID say that, but -"

"'But'? But what?"

"But - it seems to me that without a longer time together, more time spent getting to know one another outside the bedroom... these little scenarios don't have much meaning behind them. I don't really feel I know YOU terribly well yet. As a person." Bashir drew the cast-off blanket against his legs and modestly covered himself; it seemed a little incongruous to be giving lectures about getting to know the 'real person' while his lover's face was centimeters away from Bashir's cock. "You see, I never know what you think of me the next day, while you're having your breakfast, or working in your shop -"

"I should think it's more than obvious what I think of you." Garak smiled indulgently. "All day long, waiting for my turn, waiting for you to come to me, begging me to let you in, begging me to be gentle with you..." Garak's heart beat a little faster at the memory. "Really, my dear doctor, this has without a doubt been one of the best ideas you've ever had."

"I'm not so sure... But it was either that or stay locked in Odo's holding cells for the next year, I suppose. I really thought you were going to kill me, Garak."

"Kill you? KILL you? If you only knew what I was actually planning for you." Garak grinned, and Bashir grinned back.

"Well... one might say the feeling was mutual." He reached over and drew the Cardassian up against his side, then spent a pleasant few moments nuzzling affectionately against his ridged neck while Garak closed his eyes and gently stroked Bashir's hair.

"Mmmm..." Garak murmured at last. "This is very nice. Completely outside the guidelines for what we're supposed to be doing right now, but nice."

"What difference does it make if it's outside the guidelines?"

"Because, dearest Julian, tomorrow night when you come to my quarters and I tie you to the bed, blindfold you, and have my evil Cardassian way with you, you're going to pout at me and whimper, 'But that's not fair! That's not what I did to YOU! How can you treat me this way?' Then your lovely eyes will fill with tears, your voice will quaver, your hands will probably shake..." He could barely contain his merriment; Bashir was aghast.

"All right, Garak." Bashir suddenly pulled away with a snarl. "If that's really your mental image of the 'real' me, then let me substitute a new one. Get on your knees."

"Master?" Garak hesitated, smiling nonetheless.

"You heard me. On your knees. I'm going to allow you once more to serve me properly, and this time, if you bite me like that again, we're BOTH going to find out just how tough that Cardassian hide of yours is."

"Why - what do you mean, master?" Garak put a nearly undetectable note of fear into his voice. Bashir winced - his partner was totally unconvincing - he wasn't even TRYING.

 

The situation was just as Bashir had described it. He and Garak, the resident Cardassan tailor/spy of Deep Space Nine, had barely made each other's acquaintance before the entity known as Q, in an attempt to move matters along and 'enhance' their relationship, had inflicted a series of dreams upon each of them, dreams in which they themselves took center stage along with an imaginary version of the other. The dreams were erotic, compelling, provocative - and totally offensive to both of the involuntary participants

The main reason, undoubtedly, was that Q, sensing a latent desire in each of them for power, control, and just a trace of submission, had given them what he thought they craved - imaginative master-servant scenarios in which they were supposed to be the masters - but carelessly made each of them servants to somewhat brutal versions of the other. Slaves, actually, and the rage and helplessness were enough to drive each man into a state of livid fury at the sight of the other one, once they finally confronted each other outside the dreams, continuing even after the dreams had ceased. 

For two weeks, they had argued in the replimat, come to physical blows in Quark's bar, hurled objects at each other on the Promenade, and, in the privacy of their rooms (or holding cells, as the case might be,) nurtured fantasies of overpoweringly erotic imagery about the other. It was Bashir who had finally come to the realization that they should describe, to each other in private, just a little of what they had actually undergone in the dreams, in an effort to ease some of the tension and address any increasingly obvious misunderstandings. 

Their hesitant, awkward and ultimately very revealing confessions of their unique experiences had proven to be most... eye-opening. Upon their release from the holding cell in which they had shared that information, they had swiftly retired to their separate quarters with an urgency that left little doubt as to how they each planned to spend the rest of that evening. A few days later, it was again Bashir who, reluctantly and with some trepidation, thought of a way to control and channel the ardor as well as the rage. 

 

"Would you watch where you're aiming that thing?" Julian Bashir barked in the direction of his coworker, Elim Garak. "You've already pushed me into this pile twice already."

"Excuse me, please, doctor," Garak replied, with mock courtesy. "I was simply trying to finish this job a little faster, but since you evidently have nothing better to do all day than clean out a cargo bay -"

"I can't believe this." Bashir abruptly sat down on a nearby storage container and threw his broom onto the floor. "Second in my class at Starfleet Medical, nominee for the Carrington Award, specialist in multi-species medicine... and I'm spending my off-duty hours cleaning out a fucking CARGO BAY -"

"Watch your language, doctor," Garak reprimanded him, as he viciously wielded his broom. "It's bad enough I have to spend MY free hours here in these cold, filthy surroundings, without being subjected to more of your verbal harassment."

"What do you mean, 'more' of my verbal harassment?" Bashir demanded, leaping to his feet. "Those were DREAMS, Garak! I had NO control over them! Remember what you did to me in MINE?"

"So you say."

"What the hell am I SUPPOSED to say? Those were dreams! I was a victim, remember? Just like you were?"

"Well... you told me you were." Garak gave an angry snort which Bashir chose to ignore. 

"I don't know where they came from -"

Garak rolled his eyes.

"- I don't know why you thought up such insane things about me, but believe me, I had nothing to do with them." He paused. "I mean, remember, Odo thinks they might have had something to do with stress." He paused again, then gathered up his nerve. "Why did you ever imagine I would be such a tyrant? Where did that come from? Have I ever been anything but courteous to you? Have I ever done anything to harm anyone here?" Garak didn't answer. "Maybe you were projecting YOURSELF and your own personality onto me. Whippings and all."

"Ah. Then, my friend, your logic implies that YOU found something in my actions, in your own mind, that resonates with you - perhaps you find the concept of being forced to submit to Commander Sisko -"

"Okay, okay," Bashir held up his hand - this was already going too far. He bent down to pick up the discarded broom; Garak, not noticing his action, backed into him and sent Bashir sprawling across the metal floor. "Son of a BITCH!"

"And again with the expletives, doctor," Garak sighed, as Bashir struggled to his feet. "I can't tell you how accustomed I became to your crude language during your little adventures with me. But I'm warning you - your fun is over now, and I won't put up with any more abuse from you, verbal or otherwise." He glared with menace at the human; Bashir sighed loudly.

"Here we go AGAIN. Garak, I could just as easily be accusing you of engineering all those things I described, but I take your word for it that you had nothing to do with them. I don't keep throwing all that back in your face, do I? You let Klingons use me, Garak- you had people beat me with a belt, you threw me down on a dining room table in front of everyone and -"

"DOCTOR!" Garak gasped. "I really don't think this is the place to be discussing this."

"Why not? We're alone." But Bashir knew why not, as the rapid breathing on the part of both human and Cardassian could attest.

"Because the more we talk, the more you describe those indignities to which I subjected you, and the more I - well, the more I recall just how it felt to have you force me to submit to you -"

"I see what you mean." Bashir leaned against the wall; neither man spoke for a minute or two. "Well... all right, we'd better finish up. I don't want to be stuck here all night. Tomorrow night, we're re-stocking Quark's storage room." He grimaced.

"Well, we DID break an awful lot of bottles," Garak sighed.

"Yes we did." But, instead of sweeping, Bashir settled himself again on the edge of a nearby cargo container. "Garak... I don't know why I went so wild every time I saw you - I never really listened to you, I guess. You were telling me you were upset and angry too, and all I could think of was, 'He's up to something.' I wish we would have just talked first."

"Easier said than done, as you humans say. Those dreams.. they, ah..."

"Yes? They what?"

"They threatened me - I couldn't let you get away with that. You barely knew me and yet you were claiming such a position over me. I wasn't really thinking that it might possibly not have been you at all. I never even considered it, after a while."

Both men lapsed into silence for a moment. "The thing I regret most," Bashir began, quietly, "is that I really do like you, Garak. A lot. And the dreams could have ruined everything." He glanced shyly at his companion, hoping to see how his confession was being received.

Garak stared back at him, blinking in amazement.

"You heard me. I like you."

"I... I - like you too, doctor. I always have."

"Then how can we settle all this? CAN we settle all this? Can we get our friendship back? How can things go back to the way they were between us?"

"I don't think they can," Garak sighed. "It's strange to consider, but we had never even really, well, physically 'touched' each other before, and yet, because of those dreams, I feel now as if we've - we've -"

"Yeah, I get the idea." Bashir blushed. After a while, he rose to his feet and resignedly continued sweeping the dust and debris of the cargo bay into huge untidy piles, Garak working silently near him. While it was a relief to take a break from the incessant fighting and arguing, this new mood of understanding and cooperation was just as unsettling. Bashir still felt a thrill of physical sensation every time the Cardassian got close to him, followed by the fear that "master" Garak was waiting just under the surface to attack him again... 

And the worst of it was, he was fairly certain that he'd welcome the attack. So how could he ever go back to discussing novels in the replimat again, then bidding his friend good-bye for the day as they went about their separate lives? Did he really want to go back that far? On the other hand, if he let Garak get too close now, let him control and manipulate and set the tone of a new, intimate relationship, just as he had in the dreams - No, that would never, never work. But maybe something else would... A new, shocking and potentially wonderful idea began to form.

"Garak!" he shouted.

"Hmm?" Garak turned and tiredly regarded him; a line of dust ran down one eye ridge, giving him an endearingly lopsided expression.

"Garak, I know what we should do. I know exactly what we should do."

"And that is?"

"We should... forget trying to go back, and just - accept what happened and - act the dreams out. Sort of." He watched as Garak, with a vicious-sounding Kardasi curse, threw his broom halfway across the cargo bay. "I'm serious! LISTEN to me!" he shouted back. "If we give each other a chance to get these things out of our system, to feel that we CAN be in control and CAN have some say in what happens to us -"

"But I wouldn't be in control," Garak objected. "I'd be lying there helpless, waiting for you to attack me all over again."

"Garak, you're forgetting one thing. For every dream I get to act out, you get to do the same. So I'll have an incentive to keep things fair. And we'll set rules, we'll promise to - to inflict no pain, no great discomfort - to keep it FUN this time."

"And you'd ABIDE by that promise? Your alter ego whipped me pretty thoroughly, as I recall." He winced, and Bashir felt an involuntary twinge in his groin at the thought of it - HIS version of his master had been overbearing but not quite as cruel. He settled his thoughts, however, and plunged ahead.

"Of course I would. I have just as much stake in this as you do. No pain - well, not much, anyway." He grinned. "And no public humiliation -" he grimaced inwardly at the thought of the dinner party at which dream-Garak had put him through quite an ordeal himself, "- and no games that could turn dangerous." Whatever those might be - after all, he really had no idea how far this suspected spy could go... He gulped.

"Then I fail to see what the point would be, my dear doctor. If we're not truly acting out the dreams we experienced, then we're not really acting out the DREAMS, and will be accomplishing nothing. No redemption, no recovery. Nothing."

"We'll act out the spirit of the dreams, all right? We'll get certain things out of our systems. You get to punish me - kind of -" he hesitated again; this was sounding more and more questionable, "and say whatever you need to say to me and I won't fight you, I'll do the same the next night to you, and everything will work out fine - we'll feel as if we had - as if we had -"

"Stop stammering. I believe you want to say that we'll feel as if we had been given the chance for revenge that was denied us in the dreams." 

Bashir gulped again. "Well... kind of. I guess. I have to be honest, I was thinking of it more as a way to stop obsessing over the negative things that happened and start having some... well... FUN." He faced Garak with a hopeful expression. "It can be fun, can't it?"

"Oh, no doubt," Garak sighed, retrieving the broom and leaning his arms on the handle. He regarded the normally timid human doctor with amazement. Was it possible? Was it truly possible that, in exchange for a few easily-manipulated sessions in which the shy young man would halfheartedly attempt to impose his will on him, he, Garak, would have Bashir in his bed, helpless, pleading, awaiting Garak's every word and touch? That would certainly be worth any temporary discomfort or loss of dignity he would feel as Bashir's captive. 'Captive,' he snorted, amused. Had the good doctor never heard of the concept of a prisoners' revolt? He smiled an evil little smile - yes, this WOULD be fun, this could work totally to his advantage. After all, he wasn't quite convinced that the good doctor knew much about Cardassians after all. It was time to thoroughly educate his 'master.'

Bashir observed Garak's subtle change in demeanor but was too preoccupied with his own second thoughts. Was he ready for Garak to REALLY be the master again, even under the carefully circumscribed conditions he was proposing? Would it really be as much fun as he hoped, or would he instead be cringing with fear after only a few minutes? What if Garak tied him down and wouldn't let him go when he was supposed to be the victim instead, what if - No, this could go on and on and he'd find nothing but objections, as many objections as he could handle. And by giving in to them he'd never get to feel Garak's body under him, Garak helpless under his mouth, Garak helpless under his - His heart began to beat a little faster. He'd just have to trust him. Trust a known pathological liar. Oh God...

"I know you mean well, doctor," Garak was saying, "but really, aren't you a little worried that letting me loose, as it were, upon your helpless person will be somewhat frightening for you?"

Bashir swallowed. It would not only be frightening, it was ALREADY frightening, and he was becoming disturbingly hard at the very prospect, which frightened him even more, as just seconds ago he had been the most excited at the thought of Garak in the submissive role. At least there would be time to analyze the matter further. Garak was looking increasingly intrigued and, to Bashir's amazement, was not at all angry any more - far from it. His blue eyes now held a faraway, dreamy expression that was beguilingly sweet - what a beautiful creature he would be to take to bed. Bashir swallowed again.

"How many nights will we do this?" Garak asked quietly.

"I don't know. As many as we feel we - need - I guess," Bashir whispered, even more quietly. Garak stood, still as a statue, then murmured,

"Very well, doctor. We'll begin tonight. My quarters."

"No - uh, my quarters."

"The replimat." Bashir's eyebrows shot up in shock. "To eat dinner, and 'flip a coin.'" Bashir nodded, relieved. "Oh, and doctor - Julian -" Garak reached for him, laid both hands gently on each side of his face, drew him close, and - kissed him, softly and gently, on the lips, "We've never even done THAT in real life yet. Are you sure about this?" Bashir, dazed, nodded again.

 

Garak, to Bashir's intense dismay, won the toss.


	2. Chapter 2

While he strongly suspected cheating, he couldn't prove it, and with shaking hands and an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach, he followed the Cardassian to his room. Garak wasted no time; once inside the door, he immediately ordered Bashir to strip, marched him into the shower, tied his hands together behind his neck, and proceeded to drive the human into a frenzy as he massaged soapy lather all over his body. Bashir barely had time to catch his breath, much less surrender to nerves - it was as if Garak were hurrying to take the encounter far enough, fast enough, that neither man would have time to give in to any doubt or hesitation. 

The water shower he chose was a little warm for Bashir but not uncomfortably so; what was more uncomfortable was the feel of Garak's sharp teeth on his neck and shoulders, as his 'master' roughly pinned him against the wall and proceeded to drive into him, in and out, in an insistent rhythm that showed no promise of letting up, and no regard for Bashir's nervousness in this, his first time ever with a Cardassian. Gone were the gentle, tentative kisses, and perhaps that was just as well, as Bashir doubted he'd be able to follow through without backing out if they had started the evening more slowly - all he could think of, over and over in his mind, was, "This is Garak! This is actually GARAK - for REAL this time!" And the most bizarre aspect of all was that THIS Garak felt like the dream version of Garak in so many, even intimate, ways - how could he possibly have imagined something he had never experienced before and with that level of precision? 

However, it also vaguely occurred to him that there was very little else in the current situation that was at all reminiscent of the dreams; everything was happening too fast and was too quiet, and while that was certainly pleasurable in its own way, he doubted it would satisfy Garak when the next night rolled around and Bashir assumed the master's role. Where was the verbal intimidation, the responses to the humiliations Garak had claimed he endured? Where was the arrogant Garak that Bashir assumed would be his answer to the arrogant Bashir whom he had described menacing him? 

"Garak?" he finally whispered timidly, the Cardassian slouching exhausted against his back, the steam from the shower curling around them.

"What is it?" Garak answered, his voice muffled.

"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

"I didn't realize the slave chose his own scenario. Shut up, doctor." Bashir fell silent, then unobtrusively began trying to rub up against the wall of the narrow cubicle; Garak's hand reached around and viciously squeezed.

"OW!!"

"You had that coming. You do not satisfy yourself without your master's permission - is that clear?" Bashir nodded. "I said, is that clear?" 

'Oh no, here it comes, he really wants me to say it,' Bashir realized, aghast, 'and I can't, it sounds too silly. I can't bring myself to actually call him -' Garak's fingers firmly dug in again; Bashir shouted, "Yes, master!"

"Good. Now I'm going to untie your arms, and you're going to take that towel and dry me - understand?"

"Yes - master."

"Correct again." He turned Bashir around, loosened the straps, pulled Bashir's arms down to his sides and then kissed him roughly on the lips. Bashir nearly melted against him with desire and relief, but Garak pushed him away. "Get the towel, I said."

Bashir obediently dried Garak's neck and shoulders; Garak stopped him when he began to kneel down to dry the Cardassian's stomach and regions below that, instead grabbing the towel himself and briskly drying Bashir with it. Then he wrapped it around Bashir's waist, wrapped a second one around his own waist, barked at him to follow, and led the way back into the bedroom. Interesting, Bashir thought - the bed had been decorated with several large, inviting white pillows and was covered with a fluffy white comforter, not the usual severe style of the occupant of the room at all, and a small, shaded lamp was cozily glowing on the bedside table. The stars glimmered outside the viewport and soft music - Vulcan? - filled the room.

'This is positively ROMANTIC,' Bashir began to beam, his unsatisfied organ rising again in anticipation - 'This isn't the least bit scary. What a night I'm going to have, after those frantic preliminaries. This is going to be absolutely sublime.' A padd lay activated on the bed, and Bashir craned his neck to read the title, but the Kardasi text stumped him - 'It's probably some exotic romance novel for us to act out, perhaps even illustrated.' He licked his lips in anticipation. 

Garak climbed into the bed and Bashir remained standing beside it, watching his 'master' settle himself among the pillows and take up the padd, his impressive Cardassian body highlighted by the folds of the towel. Bashir cleared his throat.

"Yes?" Garak looked up at him.

"Garak - Master, I was just wondering..."

"Yes?"

"I was just wondering what I'm supposed to do now." Damn his little games; could he not SEE that Bashir was more than ready to get into that bed and continue what Garak had already so vigorously started?

"You're supposed to stand there, my gorgeous slave, until I give you another command. I like to look at you, you know - you're very beautiful." Bashir blushed despite himself - both the real and the dream-Garak were similar in their propensity to offer compliments. "But I suppose there IS a limit as to how long I can make use of your services tonight. Two hours each time, did we say?" Bashir nodded.

"Two hours it is, then," Garak sighed. "All right. In my closet, behind you, you will find a large container filled with padds - bring them out here, please." Bashir, puzzled, turned and located the closet as well as the box of padds, which he carried into the bedroom and placed on the floor at the foot of the bed. "Fine," Garak said, sitting up slightly to watch. "Those are clothing patterns. I want you to examine each one, note the style and salient features, put them in order by type of garment, label them with the date of last revision, and bundle them up for me."

"But - but -"

"But what, my beautiful slave? Do you have any objections to this assignment your master has given you?" He smiled, bemused.

"Well, NO, but - it's not exactly what we agreed on!"

"And just what did we agree on, hmm? No pain, no public humiliation, no danger... Do you find this task painful? Dangerous?" Bashir shook his head. "Publicly humiliating?" Bashir again shook his head, more slowly. "Well then, slave, it appears you have your task ahead of you. Get to work. There are two hundred patterns there and I want them all sorted by the time you leave." Garak leaned back against the pillows with a contented sigh and laced his fingers behind his head, as he tried in vain to hide his amusement from the increasingly irritated doctor.

"But GARAK!" Bashir finally exploded. "This is supposed to involve SEX! Like the dreams did!"

"Ah." Garak feigned confused surprise. "Sex, you say? As your master, I am to punish you for your previous transgressions against me with - sex?"

Bashir nodded warily, unsure as to where this was going.

"So that would be a fair exchange, you feel - you insult me and humiliate me and I am to - let me see, what was it again... I am to punish you by granting you orgasms? Was that it? Do I understand correctly?" He waited; Bashir dared not respond. "Helping you achieve orgasms would be an appropriate punishment for you?" Bashir slumped, defeated. So THAT'S where this was going. 

"Let me make this clear." Yes, at last - there he was - arrogant Garak. At least the suspense was over. "You're my slave tonight and you're going to start acting like it - or would you rather I ask Odo to supervise these sessions?" Bashir quickly shook his head. "Then get to work. And besides," he grinned, settling himself higher on the pillows for a better view, "it IS going to be sexual. Take off that towel - I want to see you naked." Bashir sighed and unwrapped the towel from around his waist, sank down awkwardly cross-legged onto the floor, and picked up two of the offending padds; he glanced up to see Garak contentedly closing his eyes, vowed to wreak humiliating revenge on the Cardassian the next night, and sighed again. As he worked, his dark head bent in concentration over the dusty padds, he was oblivious to the appreciative glances Garak continually directed his way, as the Cardassian drifted in and out of a pleasant, satiated half-sleep.

 

The next night, Bashir was ready. He was, in fact, more than ready - he had managed to empty the closet and drawers in his quarters of every garment he owned, and they were all piled in a heap on the bed, waiting for the attentions of Elim Garak, tailor and soon-to-be temporary slave. In fact, Bashir had even obtained donations from O'Brien's family, Kira, Dax, and others, for a Bajoran clothing drive - those donations, too, were thrown onto the bed in a heavily laden mess. 

Lunch that day had been surprisingly pleasant; while Quark had never let his eyes stray too far from the duo, there was really no need for him to be nervous. Both men treated each other with astonishing civility, and conversation was interesting if somewhat subdued. Garak, in fact, looked slightly tired out from his exertions of the night before - Bashir reflected that he had probably not engaged in such activity in quite some time - in the real world, anyway - judging by the force of his passion. And Bashir, for his part, still felt shy and rather uncomfortable too - despite the amazingly and incomprehensibly realistic dreams he had undergone, he had never actually participated in a sexual encounter quite like that before, least of all with a Cardassian as well-endowed as Garak was. 

Repeating their 'experiment' so soon was probably a mistake - maybe this should have been once a week, not once a day. After all, the physical aftereffects were fun to deal with but the emotional ramifications might turn out to need more recovery time... But then again, the sooner they got the dreams out of their systems, the sooner they could go back to normal lives, keeping only those activities they found they most enjoyed. Or so Bashir fervently hoped, anyway.

The door chime sounded, and Bashir rose and greeted his guest.

"Garak - so good of you to come by."

"I had no choice but to come by, doctor, if I'm to abide by the terms of our agreement." Bashir smiled at the Cardassian's suppressed hostility.

"True. But I see no need to begin right away - would you like to relax a moment first? Do you want anything to drink?" It was fun to poke the bear just a little bit, especially a bear as reluctant as this one.

"No thank you - I'd really rather just get this over with."

"That's not very flattering, Garak."

"It wasn't meant to be." Both men regarded each other silently: Garak was the first to look away, and noticed the clothing heaped on the bed. "Ah - I would have thought you'd tidy up the place a little, in anticipation of my visit."

"On the contrary, I brought these things out especially for YOU - you won't have to worry about having any of those pesky orgasms tonight, my friend." Garak bowed his head in silent, rueful acknowledgement. "I thought you could press them all for me, repair anything that needs repairing, lengthen a few hems, sew on a new fastener or two -"

"I see. I'm to do all this in two hours."

"You're to do as much as you can, and finish the rest later. Oh, and naturally, you'll work naked."

"Naturally." With a sigh, Garak reached for the opening of his tunic, but Bashir placed a hand over his.

"Let your master do that."

"You have no idea how this garment unfastens."

"I can learn." He struggled for a few seconds, then sheepishly admitted, "Well, I guess I COULD use a little help..." Garak reached up again and opened the collar. Both sets of hands fumbled for the same fasteners, fingers brushing against each other and finally twining together; Bashir pulled Garak closer with a growl and wrapped his arms around his neck.

"Let's forget the mending and just go to bed."

"If we can find it," Garak rasped in his ear, nipping him on the earlobe and forcibly pushing him toward the bed, his free arm reaching out and grasping handfuls of clothing, flinging them onto the floor. Bashir found himself becoming smothered as the Cardassian savagely kissed him on the mouth, neck and shoulders; he struggled mightily to wriggle out of his clothing but Garak was barely even giving him time to breathe. This was really quite - stimulating - Bashir decided, as he threw his head back and lay helpless across the rumpled sheets, Garak poised just above him and watching him with those fiery blue eyes... but something was wrong. Garak, balancing himself on his arms just above Bashir's face, breath hot against his mouth, was no longer touching him, but simply continuing to stare at him.

"Wh- what is it?"

"Doctor - aren't you supposed to be in control here?"

"Control? What are you talking about?"

"I thought so. This is your turn, is it not?"

"Well, yes, but - I've decided that this is what we're going to do now."

"I see." Garak swung his legs to the side and began re-fastening his tunic. "I don't know what game you're playing, Julian, but I don't like it. I won't go along with this little scheme of yours and then be punished for it later. Everything is pleasant now, I agree, pleasant and kind, and you're certainly the most lenient master I could ever hope to have. But I know the real you, I think. I know your real motives. I've found you to be cruel and vindictive and -"

"Cruel and vindictive?!" Bashir, too, sat up and glared at his partner. "What the hell are you talking about? What were we just DOING?" He waited, but Garak didn't answer him. "I'm afraid, Garak, that if this is the way our encounters are going to go, if you really can't make any allowance at all for the fact that those were DREAMS, then we might as well stick to the plan. You seem totally unable to let go of this rage you feel toward me." Garak snorted. "And by the way, I don't want you calling me 'Julian' in here. You know what you're supposed to call me."

"All too well."

"Fine. Then let's begin. Are you ready to serve me, slave?"

"Yes."

"YES?"

"Yes - master."

"Better. Now give me your hand."

"What?"

"Give me your hand, Garak." Garak did so; Bashir grabbed the wrist and then twisted it behind the Cardassian's back, pulling the other wrist behind also and fastening the two together with a sock he fortuitously located on the bed. The sensation of tying the stronger man's wrists was rather extraordinary - Bashir again felt a little lightheaded at the thought that this wasn't a childhood game and it wasn't a dream, it was the real Garak and he was actually tying his wrists together. Garak pretended to struggle, but Bashir was under no illusions that the Cardassian was doing anything other than resignedly consenting to go along with the charade.

Bashir then opened his partner's tunic and pulled it down to his wrists; he reached for the fastening of the tight trousers, too, but thought better of it after quickly noting that in Garak's current state of arousal he could be left in a much more uncomfortable position with the trousers on. The Cardassian evidently did not find the situation as frightening and distasteful as he professed, then, but his expression was dark. Bashir smiled.

"All right, slave. Now get down on your knees and show me what I taught you to do in those terrible dreams I inflicted on you." Garak wasn't amused, but nevertheless obeyed and waited silently while Bashir unfastened his own trousers. He also neglected to inform his 'master' that in the dreams, despite the oppressive conditions in which he found himself, it had nevertheless always been Bashir, not Garak, who had done the servicing. Best to keep that little detail to himself. "I think I prefer to be a little more comfortable," Bashir mused, sliding backwards on the bed and settling his back against the headboard. 

"I'm ready, slave," he finally grinned at Garak. "You may approach me. You wanted me in control, you've GOT me in control."


	3. Chapter 3

He didn't have control, of course, not really, and after Garak had gone for the evening and Bashir slowly and tiredly walked around his quarters picking up the scattered clothing, he tried to figure out what was going wrong. He got very little pleasure from contemplating Garak as a meek and helpless slave, and none at all from contemplating him as a condescending one. What he wanted was the forceful Garak of his mysterious dreams, somehow brought to life and then able to be subdued, not this smiling and annoyed but willing real-life version. 

Oh, the sex was certainly pleasurable enough, once he had managed to convince Garak that he was not interested in being mocked or made fun of - or maybe it was simply the case that Garak was only willing to perform on command when he himself was good and ready. What was the use? What he wanted he could never attain - he thought about it again: a "real" Garak who was impossible to control but could be controlled, who treated him like a slave and like a cherished lover, who balked at being told what to do and yet was willing to do anything Bashir suggested... No, there was certainly nothing unattainable about that! 

There had to be some way to get Garak just angry enough to forget the rules and regulations and lose a little bit of control - but then again, the thought of Garak truly out of control, inflicting the sort of humiliation on Bashir that the dreams had contained... Bashir shuddered. That wasn't exactly what he wanted either. No matter which way he turned, he was confronted with the same dilemma.

Or was he? "Garak," Bashir murmured under his breath, the next time the two men were seated together in the replimat, "I have an idea."

The Cardassian rolled his eyes. "Not another one."

"Yes, another one. A good one. We need to bring more realism into these games, more of a sense that we're not still sitting here on DS9, going through our usual routines, living our usual lives, sneaking around behind everyone's backs doing this..."

"I rather like sneaking around behind everyone's backs."

Bashir smiled. "Yeah, I suppose it IS kind of fun, at that. But I have a better idea. Both of us said that our dreams took place in odd locales that we didn't recognize, right? Not in our rooms or anywhere on the station."

"Right." Bashir smiled - he seldom heard Garak use that expression and it sounded rather cute.

"So this is my idea. We get AWAY from the station for a little while, just a few days. We go someplace we'd never normally be. We change the location of these nights we're sharing so that they seem truly different than the days." He watched for some reaction, but Garak was silent. "This is what I'm suggesting - I want to see if I can take my next turn on one of the runabouts, have you pretend to be my captured prisoner." He waited expectantly. 

Garak threw back his head and laughed, causing Bashir to redden and several of the diners to look over in their direction. "I'm sorry, but I can't quite imagine it! You, the gentle and compassionate Starfleet doctor, capturing and cruelly tormenting a poor, harmless tailor..." He exploded into laughter again and even Bashir felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, which served only to fuel his irritation.

"Forget it. Just shut up and forget it. I just thought - no, forget it. You think it's stupid." He stabbed viciously at his meal.

"On the contrary, I think it's an absolutely brilliant idea."

Bashir's head shot up. "You do?"

"Of course I do. Leave it to you to think of something so delightfully clever. And I agree - I'd like to get as far away as possible from your mending." He laughed again, his eyes merry, and Bashir sheepishly joined in. "And besides, I assume, if we have the time, that we'll take alternate roles just as we've been doing here on the station." Bashir nodded. "I rather look forward to getting you far away from any chance of help."

That sounded a little too ominous. "Don't forget the rules, Garak." 

"I have no intention of doing so. I simply want you completely and totally to myself."

"Ah... all right. I think."

"But doctor - I'm sure a runabout has recording devices and visual ship logs and other such paraphernalia; what do you intend to do about those?" 

"It's just a runabout, Garak - I don't think it's got all that automatically activated. And even if it does, I don't think it's so sophisticated that I - or you - couldn't figure it out and give ourselves some privacy. I could always say there was a malfunction, if it came to that. I mean, this would just be for two or three days."

"Yes, that's true. And I could perhaps make sure, ahead of time, that we - wouldn't be disturbed. If you could arrange some sort of early access to the ship for me..."

"I think that would work. I think the whole thing should work out all right," he hesitantly agreed.

"Of course it will, doctor. Don't look so nervous. It's going to be fun!" Bashir nodded, less and less convinced, especially when Garak was the one using that word. "The only question remaining is - just what are you going to say to Commander Sisko to get us this runabout?"

 

"Hold still for a minute. I have to take these readings first." Garak shifted impatiently. "I said hold still, Garak! You're making my hand shake." Garak, perched heavily atop the doctor's lap, sighed and leaned his head back against Bashir's shoulder. "The bargain with Sisko was that we were going to take sensor readings of the wormhole emissions from far out near the nebula. A full spectrum. I know it's boring, but it was the only way I could get him to agree to let us use this ship for my leave time."

"And he found nothing odd about your request?"

"N-no, I don't think so..."

"Nothing odd about the fact that you wished to take me with you to the Dreion nebula and - park there?"

"N-no..." Bashir looked increasingly uncertain. "He knows we're friends and that we've been getting over some difficulties, and needed to - talk things out. And I told him I wanted to enjoy this spectacular scenery; I so seldom have a chance to go anywhere at all."

"Doctor, I believe taking a companion in one's vehicle to a remote location and then simply - parking - implies something other than talking. But I'll take your word for it." He settled back contentedly. " When are you going to begin interrogating me?"

"Soon. I want to get most of these readings out of the way first so there's more time for - you know."

"If you'd untie my hands, I could help you both with the readings and with the - you know," Garak smiled.

"Not a chance. You're my prisoner and I can't allow you free run of the ship."

"I have no need for your puny Federation ship." The roleplaying had abruptly resumed; intrigued, Bashir hurried to finish the last of the scans. "I only allowed myself to be captured because it amused me to do so."

"Oh, it did, did it?" Bashir grinned slyly. "That's not what you said when I found you. You were so grateful to be beamed off that pathetic little piece of Cardassian garbage before it blew up that you would have kissed the floor of this puny Federation ship." The game was that Bashir had intercepted Garak, a Cardassian pirate and renegade Gul, and was taking him back to Federation space for prosecution - after administering his own pirate justice in revenge. "Well, you'll be kissing SOMETHING soon, anyway, Garak - that IS your name, isn't it?"

"You know perfectly well what my name is, you arrogant bastard. You're not going to get the ransom you demand, you know - my government will find you, arrest you, and confiscate this ship and all the latinum you've hidden aboard it. Just how much have you stolen?"

"That's none of your business. Besides, your government is no more able to catch me than you were. Or than mine is, for that matter." Bashir manufactured an evil laugh. "It's just you and me, Garak - just you and me. I want to know where your base is - I want to find the rest of your ill-gotten gains and deliver you to your long-awaited justice!" Well, no one ever said he was an actor, and an improvisational one at that...

"Never!! I shall never tell you!" Same problem. 

"You may feel differently later. Just be thankful I haven't whipped you yet."

"But you're going to, eventually, correct?"

"Maybe. I'm not making any promises. Only if YOU promise to be a very... good... boy..." He stopped speaking; Garak's mouth had already found his, and the Cardassian was gently but persistently nibbling at his lower lip, occasionally darting his tongue against Bashir's lip and into his open mouth. "No... no..." he protested, "no, not yet... If you keep doing this I'm not going to be able to -" He reached around and clasped Garak's hands, tied behind the Cardassian's back, pulling him closer and kissing him forcefully.

"Let's go to the back and lie down - master," Garak murmured, wriggling on top of Bashir's lap.

"I'm not your master this time, I'm your... ah..."

"Let your prisoner give you some relief, then. I can tell you need it." With an audible smack, the mouths separated again and Garak slithered down till he was kneeling in front of a tousled, panting Bashir. His hands still tied behind him, he lowered his face and began searching for the fastener of Bashir's trousers with his mouth. Bashir sat sprawled with his head still thrown back, his eyes closed, his hands open at his sides. 

Garak kissed him hard through the rough fabric of the trousers Bashir had chosen - he was dressed as some sort of "space pirate," although neither man knew exactly what a space pirate would look like. And Garak, in turn, had donned a Cardassian military uniform that it had taken him a considerable amount of latinum to obtain, forbidden as he was to impersonate a Cardassian officer of any rank - he wondered what Quark planned to do with the extra profits. Oh well, there was nothing to do about it now but relax and enjoy the ride, as pleasant as that ride was proving to be.

But in the next instant, the little ship lurched suddenly to the right and Bashir was nearly thrown out of his chair. Garak went sprawling across the deck, rolling hard into a control console, both hands still tied behind his back.

"What WAS that?" he managed to gasp. Bashir, wide-eyed, was scanning the readouts and had forgotten that the Cardassian was still relatively helpless.

"I don't know - I can't make sense of these... I mean, according to this, we're still near the nebula and haven't changed our course in any way." 

"Then why did I just go flying across the cabin?"

"I said I don't... Wait a minute - wait. Here's something... I think. No, that's not it..." Bashir was clearly out of his element; Garak felt almost sorry for him. This was all supposed to be so routine... "Okay, I think I've detected something - I think -"

"Doctor -" Garak calmly interrupted.

Bashir ignored him, frantically scanning the readouts again. "I mean, the explanation seems to be - we didn't imagine anything, there really was some sort of -"

"Doctor." Bashir looked up at Garak's quietly insistent tone - and stared into the muzzles of two Klingon disruptors pointed directly at his face. "Doctor," Garak said again, "you're right, we didn't imagine anything." One of the Klingons reached forward and hauled Bashir to his feet; the other one had already helped Garak to rise and was quickly and roughly untying him.

"Now wait a minute - just who are -" Bashir began, but the Klingon slapped him viciously across the face, causing him to gasp with pain.

"Gentlemen, PLEASE!" Garak shouted. "Surely we can discuss this - I don't know what it is you think you're doing, but I most definitely can assure you that we mean you no harm and had no intention of causing any trouble here. This is completely unacceptable!"

"It's this Terran dog who has been causing the trouble, sir," one of the Klingons spat. "You're safe now."


	4. Chapter 4

"If you allow us, when we return with you to our ship, we can take him below and whip him until he begs for mercy."

"Whip him?" Garak sputtered, aghast. "Return with me? Return me to where? This IS my ship - I belong here with the - what did you call him again?" 

"The Terran dog, sir."

"Terran? What's a Terran?"

"Sir?" The Klingon looked both confused and suspicious, not a good combination for any Klingon. Garak drew back slightly. "HE'S a Terran, sir - a human."

"And you call them Terrans?"

Bashir finally exhaled in irritation and stood up straighter. "I'm sure this lesson in terminology can go on all day, but I demand an explanation from you - why are you here and why have you beamed without authorization onto a Federation vessel! Or..." He paused a split second. "Oh my God. Oh - my God. Garak, this is NOT funny." Garak and the two Klingons turned in unison to stare at him. Bashir took a deep breath, darted quickly to the communications console, and bravely faced the group. "I'm giving you one more chance to get off of this ship before I contact Commander Sisko and have you taken into custody. Whatever he's -" he gestured toward Garak, "- paying you certainly can't be worth the consequences of threatening a Starfleet officer."

The Klingons only gaped at him in amazement, Garak unsuccessfully trying to catch his attention. But Bashir ranted on. "And in addition, I will be sure to inform representatives of your government that you have illegally commandeered a Starfleet shuttlecraft -" He got no further; one of the Klingons stepped forward and punched him in the stomach, not hard but not gently. Bashir doubled over in pain; Garak, increasingly agitated, ran forward and grabbed hold of the intruder's arm.

"STOP THIS - I don't know who you are or where you came from, but I won't allow you to harm my friend!" The Klingons, puzzled, retreated silently, bowing to him. "Now, if you have some feud with the Federation or Commander Sisko, I suggest you take it up with them and let us go on our way in peace."

"Sir," the Klingon began uncertainly, "there is no longer any need for you to pretend to cooperate with this rebel scum." Garak blinked. "We have once again triumphed over their pitiful forces and rescued you. There is no more need for deception." 

Bashir, rousing himself, leaned heavily against the back of a seat and rasped, "All right, this has all been very convincing so far but I'm not playing along any more. Garak, I'm disappointed in you. You knew the rules. No outside participants, and NO PAIN!" 

One of the Klingons grabbed him by the arms and slammed him against the center console; Garak winced and again shouted, "STOP, I said! I don't want the human - Terran - harmed. He is not my prisoner - I told you, he's my friend!"

"Gul Garak, you do not have to submit to his rebel demands any longer. He and his allies can no longer dishonor you. We will take him with us back to our ship, and you can rest assured he will be made to pay dearly for what he's done to you."

Gul Garak? GUL Garak? "Gul" Garak appeared to be thinking rapidly and frantically, as he attempted to tie together all of the widely scattered clues and function coherently in this incomprehensible situation. The two Klingons waited patiently. Nodding, he came to a rapid conclusion. Drawing himself to his full height in his impressive Cardassian uniform, he waved a dismissive hand in Bashir's direction.

"All right. I consent to this. Take us to your ship. Take the Terran into custody, but see that he's not harmed until I'm able to speak with him further. I assume you have the means to tow this vessel?" 

"Yes sir."

"Good. Then do it. And now - if you're ready?"

"Garak!" Bashir cried, but fell silent as one of the Klingon fists threateningly neared his face. The group disappeared in a shower of sparkles, a Klingon plaintively wailing, "At least let us prepare him for you first!" until he vanished. 

 

Bashir awoke with a start. Soft footsteps were approaching his cell. He raised his head from where it had been resting on his folded arms, sat up, and waited, then breathed a sigh of relief as Garak crept around the corner. 

"Shh - don't wake the guard." The Cardassian stood just outside the doorway, as the forcefield hummed and sputtered. "The other one's up on the bridge."

"What difference does it make if we wake the guard?" Bashir hissed. "Now are you going to let me out of here and end this stupid game, or do we just sit here staring at each other?"

"Doctor, I CAN'T let you out of there," Garak sheepishly admitted. "I wish I could, but I can't. Believe me, this is no game." Bashir shook his head in disgust.

"Oh, come on, Garak - two Klingons? TWO Klingons? I was so stupid - so incredibly stupid!! WHY did I ever tell you all those details? Why did I ever tell you one fucking thing? Why did I trust you?"

"Doctor -" Garak began again, "please, I'm begging you to keep your voice down! If you wake our friend there and he hears me collaborating with you, we'll both be in this cell and on our way to who knows what kind of situation."

"How terrible for you. Wouldn't want YOU stuck in here too. That's not part of the game, I'm sure." Bashir stood up and began to yell, "Hey Klingon!" Garak frantically signaled for him to stop.

"LISTEN to me! Will you please just listen to me?! I'm not doing this for my own ego, and I most definitely do not know them. I'm just trying to buy us a little time while I figure out what happened."

"I'll tell you what happened - you've decided it's party time at Garak's again. Where are the other guests? Did you invite Odo?"

"Oh, doctor." Garak sank down to the floor. "I don't know what else to say to you to convince you. But please believe me - I'm doing and saying everything I can to keep you relatively unharmed. These Klingons seem to feel that I'm a leader in some sort of alliance with them, and are willing to defer to me and offer me safe passage to Terok Nor. Terok Nor, doctor - home. I don't know why they're calling it that, but home. So at least let me see where all this is leading."

"Oh God." Bashir leaned his forehead against his arms. "I don't know what to believe any more. I'm so sorry we did this, Garak - if you're telling the truth and we're really in some kind of, I don't know, some kind of alternate reality, then I really have no idea how we're ever going to get back out of it. If you're lying to me -" Garak shook his head. Bashir's eyes widened as he looked beyond the Cardassian's shoulder; Garak likewise turned.

The sleeping Klingon was sleeping no longer, but had advanced on the pair, an evil leer spreading over his face. "Gul Garak! Do you require entrance to the cell?"

"Y-yes, I want you to disable the forcefield and let me speak to the prisoner alone. You may then leave us."

"What are you going to do to him?"

"That is most definitely not your concern - - what is your name?"

"Emanon, sir." Emanon? 'Strange name for a Klingon,' Bashir had precisely one second to reflect, before 'Emanon', still leering, pressed a panel and the forcefield dissolved. He, however, made no move to exit.

"I said you may leave us," Garak again commanded, slight uncertainty creeping into his voice. 

"No sir." The Klingon stood solidly, legs apart, expression grim. "I will stay and observe while you exact retribution on this Terran."

Garak took a deep breath. "Emanon, I'm not going to tell you this again. The Terran is MINE. Mine to claim and mine to punish. You will allow me to exact my own - retribution - in private." He reached for Bashir and roughly pulled him by the neck of his tunic, partially tearing it and half-choking Bashir in the bargain. "The Terran will soon learn just how angry he has made me and how painful will be my revenge," he added, much to the delight of the Klingon, who had now turned his attention away from Bashir and was eyeing Garak with new interest.

"Yes, revenge is well merited - and is yours to claim. But surely you will allow me to -"

"I will allow you to do nothing," the Cardassian imperiously proclaimed, pulling Bashir against him. "I have no interest in hurting the - rebel - yet; I have other uses for him first." The Klingon's eyes gleamed even more brightly. "I intend for him to - serve me now. I prefer him relatively undamaged for that purpose."

"The Terran would serve you better with a few more bruises. Why doesn't his lack of fear bother you, sir?"

Oh no, this could be bad. Bashir froze - displaying plenty of fear at last - and Garak seemed to change his tone. "Because I welcome the challenge of subduing him. Now leave us." The Klingon didn't move, but stayed at the entrance to the tiny cell, almost blocking it. "I said leave us," Garak insisted, a little more hesitantly. 

The Klingon suddenly pushed past Garak into the cell and yanked Bashir by the arm, breathing into his face, "We too would require such - service." Bashir felt his knees buckle. Garak, clearly outmatched now, watched the Klingon's hand reach down to fondle Bashir's rear end. "Why are you denying me the Terran? Is our brave rescue to go unrewarded? You of course will take him first, but then afterward -"

"Afterward, I will take him again. And again," Garak proclaimed haughtily. The Klingon grumbled. "As for your reward -"

"Are you secretly in league with this rebel? In sympathy with his cause?"

"WHAT!?"

"Why are you unwilling to share him?" Garak was dumbfounded. "Your words and actions suggest that he has already won you over to his side - did you perhaps grow accustomed to serving as his whore?"

Bashir closed his eyes in terrified resignation; Garak roared and advanced on the Klingon, who had inexplicably but fortuitously retreated a few paces. "I could have you killed for that," Garak snarled, as both men stared furiously into each other's eyes. "I am not required to share my trophies with you or with anyone. I will, however, allow you to watch the punishment. And later, if I grant the privilege, you may - enjoy - the Terran as well." Bashir's mouth dropped open in shock.

Garak turned him roughly and propelled him the short distance toward the wall, his hands pressing into his back. Bashir was petrified - the situation was already unfathomable, and becoming more so, not less, with every minute. He felt hands travel down his sides and then hesitate at his waistband, as Garak hissed quietly into his ear, "Please go along with this for now, Julian. Please. Please don't struggle. I'm begging you as a friend - all I know is that we'll never survive this if I can't fool them. I need to do this to you; I have no choice." 

Bashir's heart was pounding; it seemed he likewise had no choice. How had this day gone from sensor scans with the Cardassian sitting on his lap to a cold, dirty cell with Garak standing behind him - he flinched. Garak had reached around and opened Bashir's trousers, then tugged them down to his knees, keeping his body pressed against him as closely as he could for what Bashir assumed was some small attempt at privacy. And then - there it was, the Cardassian's moistening, stiffening cock nudging him open; it was actually happening, Garak was actually going to do it, and in front of the guard, no less, who had shifted slightly to one side for a better view. Bashir started to pant - short, shallow gasps, as Garak entered him as smoothly as he could manage, whispering "shhh... shhh..." in his ear in a futile attempt to calm him.

"Please... don't..." Bashir found himself whimpering back, but it was no use - Garak had begun to thrust into him, somewhat gently - for him - but it still hurt to be pinned against the cold metal wall, Bashir's forehead even smacking into it once or twice as he moved with the Cardassian. It was over relatively quickly, Garak's fluid hot within him and even trickling down his legs as the Cardassian stayed still, pressed tightly against his back, breathing hard. In the next instant, though, Bashir heard the Klingon growl in anticipation. Garak growled too and turned his head to speak.

"I'm not finished with the Terran yet. Leave us." The Klingon, as before, didn't move.


	5. Chapter 5

"I said leave us," Garak barked again. Bashir leaned against the wall, eyes tightly closed. Suddenly he felt Garak back away and he slid down to the floor, but a hand roughly spun him around and he pitched forward onto the deck. His trousers were still opened around his thighs and he automatically reached down to pull them back up, but in the process of doing so he was lifted by his collar into a kneeling position. In a daze, he felt Garak grasp both of his shoulders; then he smelled the spicy lubrication coating Garak's shaft before his face was pressed against it. He knew he was supposed to open his mouth and take it in but he just couldn't, not yet - he knelt there with his closed mouth gliding over it, clear fluid coating his lips and cheeks and chin. 

Garak then grasped the back of Bashir's head and thrust his hips against his face but again Bashir kept his mouth closed, stunned with the realization that this was one form of access he actually had some control over granting, and what, after all, could either of the men in the room do about it... But in the next instant, he felt a sharp smack to the back of his head and he cried out in pain and surprise, Garak choosing that opportunity to push inside. The Cardassian was not yet fully aroused and Bashir was in no mood to arouse him; the two simply remained clasped together, the Klingon watching them with a look of confused wonderment. Then he turned and stalked away, boots clanking down the metal corridor, and the two were alone. Garak nearly sagged in relief.

"Julian," he said, as he pulled away, "are you all right?" 

Bashir gazed at him mutely; then finally, at Garak's concerned expression, he spat out, carefully enunciating each word, "Just what the HELL do you think? Are you out of your fucking MIND?"

"I told you - I had to put on a show for them - no doubt he's gone to tell the other one what I did -"

"No doubt he's gone to get the other one and bring him down here for more."

"No. No, I think he's conceding this to me. I think he's finally acknowledging that I'm the leader here." 

"Then start acting like one, and tell them you want us put back onto the runabout."

"And just where would we go?" Bashir had risen and slumped down onto the metal bench; Garak stood over him and continued to remonstrate with him. "It's hard to lead when I don't know who or what I'm leading. I don't know who they think I am, or what my counterpart would do in a similar situation - I can't risk behaving much differently than they expect he would or we're doomed."

"All the more reason to try to get away from them, Garak," Bashir sighed, tiredly wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "If they take us back to wherever it is they came from... Maybe we don't want Terok Nor after all."

"I know. I've been thinking of a plan." Bashir idly wondered just when he'd had time to do all this thinking, but no matter. "I'm going to tell them I need to look for more associates of yours who had managed to escape. That will keep us here on their ship, scouting the area, for a good long while and we can possibly think of a way to overpower them. This vessel obviously has more flight capabilities than that little runabout."

Bashir reluctantly admitted that, indeed, the plan was better than nothing. "So what am I supposed to do in the meantime? They'll be back for me, Garak."

"Don't worry. I'll try not to let either one out of my sight for too long. Just don't say or do anything to annoy them, if you can help it."

"Believe me, I won't." Bashir looked both defiant and a little frightened, as well as exhausted. "But Garak? It would really help if you'd think of some better way of keeping them away from me."

"I know." He stepped out of the cell and raised his voice to a shout. "I'll be back for you later, human - Terran! Don't think your injuries will cause me to be merciful with you! You're mine now - mine alone!" He hit the panel at the side of the cell, causing the force field to buzz back into life. Then he strode further out into the corridor. "And anyone else who lays one finger on my property without my express permission will find himself wearing that finger around his neck! I will personally see to it!" He climbed the ramp to the bridge; both Klingons had obviously heard him and were watching him with no small degree of awe. Garak addressed the one sitting closest to the viewscreen, in a voice loud enough that he hoped might carry faintly to Bashir.

"What is your name, Klingon?"

"Thirok, sir."

"You may call me Gul." Oh, how sweet that felt, after such a long time... "The prisoner has been secured. You and your associate have no further need to concern yourselves with him for the present."

"Yes, Gul." 

"And one more thing - I will be the one administering all required punishment - is that clear?"

"Yes, Gul," the Klingons both chorused.

 

Some hours later, Garak was back in front of the cell. "I'm sorry, doctor - they were again insinuating that I wasn't really Gul Garak, whoever that is. It appears that the Gul is quite free with his - possessions," Garak implored, deactivating the force field.

"I don't care what the fuck the Gul is free with - I will not be forced to perform again for them! Absolutely not!!"

"Doctor, please - they also continue to insinuate that I've developed an 'attraction' for you, which is why they feel I won't punish you. So I needed to promise them some punishment." Heavily booted footsteps were heard marching down the ramp toward the corridor. "Please, listen to me! I need to give them just one more little demonstration..."

"You need to go to hell, Garak." At that moment, the two Klingons reached the cell and one of them - Thirok - ran forward and roughly grabbed hold of Bashir's arm.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" he shrieked, struggling in his hold. The other Klingon turned to Garak.

"Gul, allow us to teach the prisoner some manners."

"NO!" Garak shouted. "The prisoner is mine to teach. You will not harm him, and I will not tolerate your constant insubordination or you will be the one I punish. Is that clear?" His blue eyes blazed with fury.

"Yes sir," they replied in unison. "Excuse us, sir," Emanon humbly pleaded. "It's only that it's been so long since we've had a rebel fighter in our midst. Most of them retreat like cowardly dogs before we can overtake them." Garak snorted.

"Typical. Well, this one seems to have too much spirit to retreat. Agreed?"

"Agreed!" the Klingons both nodded happily.

"And what do we do with Terrans with too much spirit?"

"We beat it out of them, sir!" the Klingons chorused.

"Precisely. Thirok, bring me a strap of some kind; Emanon, tie the prisoner's hands to the back of this chair." 

Bashir was visibly pale, but resisted as the Klingon tried to pull him from the cell by the shoulder; Emanon simply hoisted him up and deposited him back on the floor near the chair, then roughly pulled both wrists in front of him and tied them together. Bashir, thus immobilized, waited silently, breathing heavily, till Garak approached from behind. "Garak?" he whispered. Garak pretended not to hear him.

"I don't like to have to do this, Terran... No, I take that back, I like it very much. Too much, in fact. I want you to remember that, and not give me any more reasons to punish you in front of these men. They despise rebellion, as do I. So I intend to do what they suggested and beat it out of you." 

Without another warning, he raised the strap and smacked it loudly down across the seat of Bashir's pants. The doctor let out a surprised yelp; Garak struck him again and sneered, "What's the matter? Can't take it? Does it hurt your tender human skin?" Bashir tried to glare back with disdain at the Cardassian, but another blow made him gasp and he stumbled forward slightly. "If you think it hurts now, just wait. Thirok, come here." The Klingon, grinning, rushed forward; Bashir closed his eyes and tried to brace himself. 

"Strip him." Bashir's eyes flew open and he began to protest. "Strip him, I said!" Garak thundered. "Terran, stop shaking. You're not a child - you're a big boy. Surely you can take it." Oh God, Bashir thought, would he never stop hearing that phrase... 

The doctor struggled mightily, but was no match for a Klingon, and certainly not with his arms tied; a few seconds later, Garak was presented with the prospect of a panting, perspiring, and visibly trembling Bashir, trousers pulled down around his knees, shirt pushed over his head down to his forearms. Not totally undressed but as good as naked, anyway. The Cardassian caught the eye of one of the Klingons, grinned, and tested the strap against Bashir's now-exposed skin; the human shuddered.

"Please, Garak, don't do this to me," he whispered, but Garak had already begun to administer another blow which left his victim breathless. Three more, and pink welts started to glow across his caramel-colored skin in the most intriguing places... A few more and Bashir, draped now over the back of the chair, had closed his eyes and seemed to be crying.

"There, there, Terran," Garak loudly soothed him. "Surely that wasn't so bad - after all, you did that to ME often enough! I'm simply letting you know what it felt like." The Klingons, watching, snickered at that.

"Garak, I did not touch you!" Bashir sobbed under his breath. "Those were dreams! Remember? Just dreams! Why can't you understand that?"

"Quiet, doctor!" Garak hissed, also sotto voce. "These Klingons think I was your actual prisoner. That's why I said that. Not the dreams!" Bashir fell silent as Garak smacked him again. "All right, Terran," he again loudly proclaimed, "have you learned your lesson?" Bashir craned his neck around and glared, flush-faced, at him. "If you haven't, I'm sure my Klingon friends will be pleased to help you." He paused dramatically. "But now - I think you owe me something else in return for my efforts tonight." He began to unfasten his trousers, to the delighted, toothy grins of Thirok and Emanon. Not again, Bashir mournfully reflected, surely he won't do that again - but he did. Bashir, again leaning forward with his eyes closed, wasn't prepared for the sudden sensation of the Cardassian slamming roughly into him.

"Do you like that, rebel scum?" Garak breathed against the back of his neck. "Did you forget how that feels? Does that bring back any memories?" The Klingons, especially Thirok who had not witnessed the previous encounter, were half-eager, half-disgusted, and muttered between themselves as Garak concentrated on his captive. Bashir, trembling profusely, tried to hang onto the chair as Garak partially withdrew and then rocked into him again. The friction, the humiliation, and, inexplicably, the sense of being conquered once more by the very person he adored who had been sexually tormenting him in his dreams suddenly became too much for him, and he began to squirm and thrust his hips. Garak, now leaning heavily across his back, laughed softly.

"Thirok? Come here." Garak stepped aside and began to refasten his trousers. "Our Terran friend thinks he's allowed some satisfaction. See that he gets it." Bashir froze. 'You son of a bitch,' he raged silently against the Cardassian, 'there was absolutely no need for you to take it this far. You goddamned son of a bitch.' Thirok, meanwhile, stood and regarded him for a moment, then with a grin grasped hold of the human's slim hips, pressed up against him, and reached around to fondle him. His rough Klingon uniform scraped painfully against Bashir's reddened skin, but the doctor remained silent and motionless as the Klingon stroked him. "That's enough," Garak finally proclaimed; Bashir couldn't see that Garak had been watching uneasily. "He hasn't got the stamina - either that or he's finally learning. Put him back in his cell."

"Yes sir." Thirok took his knife and carelessly sliced through Bashir's bonds, then hoisted the shaking human to his feet and proceeded to drag him, unclad, toward the narrow doorway, flinging him down onto the hard bench. Garak, with one last glance, withdrew to the bridge, the Klingons following soon after.

 

"How was he when you left him?"

"Sleeping, I think," Thirok answered. "Either that or pretending to be asleep."

"You weren't too rough with him afterward, I hope? I may have gone a little overboard tonight."

"Gone overboard?"

"Oh, sorry - it's a human expression. I may have been laying it on too thick - ah, I mean, overdoing it." Garak sighed, then smiled, leaned back in his chair, placed his feet up on the console in front of him, and took another sip of his kanaar. "It's cold down there - I hope you threw the doctor a blanket."


	6. Chapter 6

"I threw one in at him, but he didn't move," Thirok answered.

"He probably picked it up after you left." He hoped so, anyway - it WAS cool down in the bowels of the ship and Garak felt a wave of tenderness wash over him. He kept it hidden from the Klingons, however, and yawned. "So - you don't think I'm scaring him too much, do you?"

"Well, if he were a Klingon, he'd probably already have torn your entrails out and mounted them on a spike. On the other hand, a Klingon would already have beaten him unconscious by now. Since you're a Cardassian and he's a human, such gentleness toward one who is supposed to have captured and enslaved you is probably appropriate," Emanon condescendingly replied. Garak chose to ignore the implied insult, and took another sip of his kanaar.

"All the same, I think I had better be more careful with him tomorrow - I don't want to totally break his spirit, just punish him a little more."

"What has he done to you, that you'd arrange such an elaborate revenge?"

"Just a disagreement. A disagreement over just how far he thought he could push me. I needed to make a point and ensure that he learns who's in charge. As long as I pay you well, you don't need to concern yourselves with the details of our - disagreement."

"If we're somehow apprehended for this, your disagreement becomes vitally important to us," Emanon toothily rasped. "The human may be able to recall our faces, or our ship, or some other detail we've overlooked."

"Don't be absurd. I've thoroughly subdued him - I don't think there's a shred of doubt in his mind any longer about the fact that we've crossed over to some 'alternate universe.'" Garak smirked.

"Your ability to lie so convincingly to one you call your friend is quite remarkable," Thirok chided him. "You display not even a shred of doubt to him yourself."

Garak, a little uncomfortable now, chose to turn the conversation in another direction. "Well, may I say, your simulations were impeccable - the runabout even rolled and spun in exactly the way you told me it would." He took another long drink of kanaar. "And it's just as well for him that it did, too, as I wouldn't have been able to tolerate another moment tied up as his prisoner." Garak felt another wave of something like regret, which he tried to will away - it had, when it came to that, been rather enjoyable to be rendered helpless by Bashir after all...

"You certainly whipped him good and soundly for that," Thirok chuckled appreciatively. "Rather gently, by Klingon standards, but still enough to thoroughly cow him. I wonder, though, if his crimes were indeed severe enough to warrant such treatment at the hands of his friend..."

Garak was becoming decidedly uneasy. The two Klingons had been so cooperative up to this point, so unquestioning, so willing to play along with every scheme Garak had initially proposed to them. Oh well. Perhaps he was just imagining this change in attitude. 

"I will never understand your fascination for this young human male," Emanon was scoffing. "What you want is a Klingon woman, confident and strong and able to break your spine if you anger her."

"Sounds delightful," Garak demurred, missing the doctor's gentle caresses already. "But right now, I think what I need more than anything is a little rest. Don't let me sleep too long, though - I don't want to waste any of the time we have left. When do you need to leave this area?"

"In twenty six hours. You have one day left, Cardassian, and not one hour more."

"Have you already installed the return program on the runabout?"

Emanon nodded. "It's ready to go - you 'escape' as planned and find yourselves in another spatial anomaly, which magically deposits you back in your own space in the Dreion nebula."

"Thank you again - you two deserve my deepest gratitude - as well as the considerable portion of my latinum that you've already claimed. It's been a pleasure doing business with you -" he hesitated over the names "- Thirok and Emanon!" The Klingons bowed. "You know, I don't think the poor boy realizes even now that those names are simply 'Korith' and 'No Name' almost in reverse."

"This Korith - do we know him?" Thirok asked.

"Not unless you had access to the good doctor's dreams... Never mind, it's too complicated to explain. I'll see you in a few hours." He limped tiredly for his tiny quarters as the Klingons looked at each other, confused. 

 

"Prisoners don't deserve decent food," Garak sneered. "Prisoners, especially rebel prisoners, deserve nothing from me beyond another beating and another chance to satisfy me."

"Garak, please," Bashir sighed tiredly, "can't you just drop it? The Klingons can't even hear us - they're too far away. I'm starving. I guess I understand you have to do this, but I can't take much more of it with them watching."

"I know. This must be quite an ordeal for you." Bashir nodded. "I'm truly sorry about that, but until I find a way for us to not only escape this ship but get back to our universe, I'm afraid we have to continue the deception. I didn't enjoy doing any of that, you know."

"Like hell you didn't," Bashir said, a little hint of anger in his eyes. "You had absolutely no trouble enjoying it, as far as I could tell - not the beating OR the sex - I could swear that you were absolutely loving it."

"Ridiculous - do you think I like being stared at by a couple of savage Klingons? They're like animals, doctor - you should hear what they insist I do to you - and I'm worried every minute that they'll turn on ME next, and then where will we both be? No, I have to act almost like a Klingon myself until we're away from here. Anyway, let's not argue - I brought you something to eat." He pulled out a peach that he had hidden under his uniform, then released the force field. Bashir watched fearfully for the guard, who didn't seem to be returning. "There - enjoy, doctor. I beamed some fruit over before it spoiled. I'll try to bring you more later. The Klingons think I'm making you fast as punishment."

"Thank you for this, Garak," Bashir gratefully replied as he bit into the juicy peach. "I forgot we brought these along." 

"It was at your suggestion, as I recall. Weren't we going to feed them to each other?" Bashir nodded in agreement. He was truly an entrancing sight, long lashes fluttering against his cheek, peach juice glistening enticingly on his lips, head bowed submissively... Garak leaned forward and placed one hand on his shoulder.

"Julian - again let me promise that I won't let them hurt you."

"I know, Garak."

"I don't like the thought of you alone down here, but I can't very well ask that you be released. Perhaps, though, I can figure out a way to keep you in my quarters."

"I hope so," Bashir regretfully sighed. "At least so far, though, they're leaving me alone." They had better, Garak thought - they were being paid far too much to be allowed to indulge themselves with Garak's prize. After his recent conversation with them, however, he was no longer sure they'd even want to.

"Well, that's one thing to be grateful for," Garak whispered, tilting Bashir's chin up and kissing him firmly on the lips. The delightful taste and texture of peach mingled in both their mouths as the men kissed, Garak twining his fingers in Bashir's hair, and then rubbing his cheek against Bashir's increasingly scruffy cheek. "I never realized how utterly entrancing you look as a rebel," he breathed.

"I'd feel a lot better if I could just play rebel for you in our quarters on DS9."

"'Our' quarters, doctor?"

"Oh. Ah - my quarters, or yours. But you've got to get us out of here! You shouldn't even be here now - you need to be working on those Klingons! Tell them you need me to lead you to our rebel base or something."

"An excellent suggestion." Thirok had just then re-entered the area, and Garak quickly straightened and moved to the edge of the cell. "Thank you for your time, Terran - it was again a pleasure," he crowed loudly, letting himself out of the cell; Bashir looked suitably defiant, hiding the half-eaten peach behind his back. "Perhaps I'll even feed you later." He turned on his heel and approached the guard, pulling him further into the corridor.

"Enjoy yourself?" the Klingon smirked, his voice lowered.

"As well as can be expected - he's becoming wonderfully subdued. This has been a most pleasant vacation. Why don't you pace back and forth in front of the cell and threaten him for a while? Then bring him to my quarters in about half an hour - tell him you're taking him to me for punishment. Bring him in chains," he added as an afterthought.

"As you wish." Thirok bowed.

"But don't scare him too much. Remember, I want him nicely frightened, not traumatized. All you have to do is growl now and then - a little goes a long way with him."

"I'll keep that in mind," Thirok bowed again.

"Thank you," Garak mumbled, quickly leaving the area before Bashir could sense that anything was amiss.

 

"I CAN'T open them, doctor - the Klingons haven't provided me with the key." Garak sat back on the cot and regarded Bashir with concern; there was a faint bruise on one cheekbone that he hadn't remembered seeing earlier that day. "And if you would stop fighting them, things would go much more easily for you. They won't tolerate any rebellion from what they term a 'Terran.'"

"And neither will you, hmm, Garak?" Bashir scowled. "That was quite a show you put on for them just now."

"Well... I always did perform well under pressure."

"That's not funny. I'm tired of this, and of you, and of this whole situation that you seem to have absolutely no trouble exploiting for your own benefit." He angrily began to pace in the tiny room. "What if our positions were reversed, Garak? What then? Would you still be so willing to see the wisdom in this little show we're putting on? No, I think you'd do anything you could to get us out of here - and expect me to do the same." 

He was growing more and more infuriated, his hazel eyes blazing, his voice becoming louder and more strident. Garak was mesmerized. This was it - this was the Bashir he wanted, the creature with the fighting spirit and the indomitable will - and now, 'that' Bashir was his to command, if only for a few delicious hours. Oh, how lucky he was to find two Klingons with an available ship, a need for easy latinum, and non-questioning dispositions. This was perfect. Bashir had stopped pacing and was watching him.

"Have you been listening to anything I've said?"

"Wh-what?" Garak roused himself.

"I said, you've got to get us back to the runabout and get us OUT of here."

"Of course, doctor. Don't you think that's what I've already been doing? But first, I think we should begin arguing a little louder for the benefit of the guards -"

"No, Garak." Bashir backed away. "No, I don't need any more of your lessons. Or theirs."

"I've been meaning to ask you about that - who hit you?"

"Does it matter? Maybe it was YOU." 

Garak sighed. "I don't like this situation any more than you do, and I promise you, I'll get us out of it within - twenty six hours."

"Oh, you know that for sure?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. Now, make a little noise, please, doctor - they think I'm punishing you in here." Bashir clanked his chains once against the wall, then sat down on the edge of the cot. Garak sighed, sat down next to him, and put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. "All right - I suppose we don't need to make too much noise, after all." Just then, the door creakily slid open and Emanon burst in. Garak leapt to his feet, his eyes cold with fury.

"How DARE you presume to come in here without my permission?"

"Gul - sir - we've spotted another rebel ship!"


	7. Chapter 7

"You've spotted a WHAT?!" Garak repeated, confused. He had not arranged for any "rebel ship" with his two Klingon conspirators, and neither "Thirok" nor "Emanon" seemed creative enough to have come up with such a scenario on their own. Yet the Klingon was deadly serious as he shouted, "They told us they knew we were holding a Terran and Gul Garak on board - they insist we surrender or they'll blow us to pieces!"

"They're going to do WHAT?" Garak exploded, trying desperately to catch Emanon's eye. Surely the Klingon wasn't THAT good of an actor. But Emanon was becoming more and more flustered, which for a Klingon was a rather terrifying sight.

"They said they had scanned us and discovered Cardassian lifesigns - further scanning showed them that you yourself were on board." Garak's mouth dropped open. "They've offered to let us go if we turn you and the human over to them."

"To WHOM? Listen to me, Vh'tagh - Emanon - just listen to me. There is no rebel ship, correct? You've been mistaken?" He smiled hopefully into the Klingon's eyes, but Emanon was adamant.

"This is not a ruse - the deception is over; it appears Starfleet or the Federation or some renegade band is out there, with real weapons aimed at us, and real Terrans on board ordering us to surrender."

Bashir had likewise been growing more and more agitated. "Garak, what's going on?" he shouted, struggling to wriggle out of the chains binding his wrists. "What deception is he talking about?"

"Nothing, doctor - Terran - absolutely nothing - this is none of your concern. Emanon, take the prisoner below and lock him up." Emanon didn't budge. "I said, take the prisoner below." He again stared meaningfully into the Klingon's stoic face, but to no avail.

"We do not have the weapons to withstand an attack by that ship - and we will not surrender to Federation justice for kidnapping a Starfleet officer, OR to rebels who want to hold you both hostage. If it's a choice between you or us, then we're sorry, Cardassian, but -"

"Vh'tagh!" Garak nearly screamed. "Explain what's going on! This is not what's supposed to happen!" But the Klingon had bolted for the door; Garak ran after him, toward the bridge, Bashir trailing along slowly behind, his ankle chains clanging on the metal decks of the ship. The small bridge was in chaos, as Q'olesh, alias Thirok, raced from tactical station to tactical station.

"They have three times the firepower," he called out to his partner. "And they're prepared to use it. I say we surrender these two and strategically retreat. There is no dishonor in prudence, and besides - we've already been paid." He grinned toothily.

"By anyone else?" Garak asked, suddenly calm. "By him, for example?" He jerked his thumb in Bashir's direction; Bashir stared back at him, baffled. "Just how much latinum did HE agree to pay you?" The view screen sprang to life at that moment and all four mouths dropped open in amazement.

"What in the hell..." Bashir breathed. "I've never seen anything like it." The unknown ship looked as if it had been pieced together from scrap metal, weapons arrays bristling out the sides like enormous pincers, lights blinking and flashing, symbols from a dozen different languages splashed along its hull in random patterns.

"Very good, doctor," Garak said. "A very good attempt at acting - you should add that to your list of abilities. I don't know who your friends are, or what they want, or how they built that bizarre vessel, but I'm not going to go along with this any more."

"Go along with WHAT? Garak, are we in some 'other universe' or aren't we? What's going on? Did you PAY these two to capture us? Is that what you're talking about?" Garak didn't answer. "And if you did, then who's on that ship?"

"You tell me." Garak sat down and folded his arms. "Or, rather, let THEM tell us. Vh'tagh, open a visual channel, if you can. Let's get this game over with."

"But -"

"Open a channel, I said. I want to talk to these friends of the doctor's. After all, if I'm to be surrendered to them, I at least want to see who I'm dealing with. Will I find Chief O'Brien on that ship, I wonder? Or perhaps - Major Kira?" He smiled. Vh'tagh pressed a control and four mouths again dropped open in amazement, as a tense, scruffy, long-haired Julian Bashir stared back at them from the view screen.

"Surrender now or prepare to lose your ship," he intoned, with a gleam in his eye. Next to him, a disheveled group of fighters, dressed very much as Doctor Bashir was dressed, smiled in agreement. "We know you've got Gul Garak onboard, as well a Terran prisoner - all we ask is that you deliver them over to us and you fucking Klingons can go on your way. But if we have to destroy you, then believe me, we will." He sat back, satisfied. Garak and the two Klingons exchanged incredulous glances - the doctor was beyond incredulous. The Bashir in the view screen suddenly caught sight of him and the long chain dangling down between his wrists. He leaned forward again, furious.

"Is that the Terran?" No one spoke. "I said, is that the Terran prisoner?" Again, silence - suddenly, at a nod from rebel Bashir, the Klingon craft rocked from the force of a warning blast. Q'olesh and Vh'tagh scrambled for the controls. "I want him delivered to me within the next five minutes, along with Gul Garak, of course - if you need another round of persuasion, I'm prepared to deliver one." The screen went blank. Garak turned to Emanon, aghast.

"Are you seriously telling me that this ship could actually destroy us? You're Klingon warriors! This is a Bird of Prey!!"

"We're Klingons for hire and this ship is nearly forty years old," Emanon replied. "One good hit and we'll fall apart. We don't know who or what is actually out there, but we're taking no chances." With one lightning-fast movement, he had drawn a phaser and stunned Garak with one blast to the temple; the Cardassian crumpled to the floor. Thirok went to work on Bashir's chains, and within moments, had dragged both the unconscious Garak and a shocked Bashir to the transporter pad, locking the chains around the Cardassian's wrists and ankles for good measure.

"Do you have any idea what this all means?" Bashir frantically pleaded. "Where are we? Who's actually on that ship you're sending us to?" Thirok grunted but made no other sound. "Is this really some alternate reality or isn't it? Would someone please TELL me?" His last words were lost in the high-pitched whine of a Klingon transporter beam.

He materialized onto a smoke-filled bridge, surrounded by a band of what looked like space pirates; crude weapons were trained on him, but mostly on Garak, who remained unconscious on the floor. "Ah! The Klingon dogs had the decency to deliver the mighty Gul to us already in chains. Very good. Let them go - they won't get very far." The rebel Bashir smiled in greeting. "I always knew I'd have a counterpart on the other side - I had hoped, though, that my counterpart wouldn't turn out to be the Gul's prisoner. But no matter. You will have ample opportunity for your revenge, my - friend?" he grinned uncertainly. 

"Is he paying you for this too?" the doctor finally managed to falter, thoroughly disoriented. Rebel Bashir laughed out loud.

"No, I don't think the Intendant's second in command is in the habit of paying to be captured by the Rebellion."

"The rebellion?"

"The Terran Rebellion. It's been growing for years, but only recently has started to gain real strength against the Alliance. But never mind," he laughed, noticing the doctor's confusion. "All that matters is that we located your life signs and managed to get you off that ship, and with Gul Garak too - I'll never know what he was doing away from Terok Nor with those pathetic Klingons, but I don't care. I can't wait to show him to Dukat!"

"Dukat's with - you? On your side?" Doctor Bashir almost whispered. This was incomprehensible.

"Dukat," rebel Bashir answered in a tone akin to awe, "is our bravest fighter. Without his help, without his willingness to assist us in our fight against his own government, we wouldn't stand a chance against the likes of Gul Garak." He smiled savagely. "Oh, but we've got him now, and what a trophy of war he's going to be when he wakes up." Garak, as if on cue, began to cough and to squirm on the floor, then blearily opened his eyes.

"On your feet, Cardassian." Rebel Bashir looked down at him contemptuously. Garak blinked and stared back, confused. In a sudden burst of rage, rebel Bashir reached down and hauled him up by the collar. "On your feet, I said - when I tell you to do something, you do it immediately." Horror dawned on Garak's face as the rebel began to circle him.

"You have got to be KIDDING me!" he wailed, only to receive a sharp blow across the face; Doctor Bashir winced in sympathy while rebel Bashir grinned happily.

 

"You WILL rescue them from that universe, won't you?"

"Eventually. I think the Cardassian needs a little dose of his own medicine, as you humans say."

"True. The look on his face was priceless!"

"Wasn't it, though? He was much too hard on the poor doctor, who after all had done nothing to him but nurse a couple of harmless fantasies. Now I've put him right back where he belongs - aren't you glad I thought of all this? Admit it - I'm a genius."

"I wouldn't go that far. This has been a pleasant diversion, nothing more. And a rather cruel diversion at that."

"Oh, stop being so self-righteous, Vash. I said I'd bring them back! And it isn't as if I myself thought up that ridiculous scenario - the Cardassian did. It was completely his work. The man is quite clever, I have to admit - it was amazing how close he came to guessing what that universe is really like, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was amazing. Even down to the 'Terran' thing." Vash giggled. 

"And I wouldn't worry about them. A day or two more of this, and they'll be so relieved to be back on DS9 that they're going to tumble into each other's arms and stay huddled together, terrified, under the blankets for weeks. Plenty of time to finally work things out. But for now -"

"But for now, Q, if you don't mind, I'd really like to stop being a Klingon. It's the teeth more than anything else..."

"I'm sorry!" Q snapped his fingers and Thirok and Emanon became Q and Vash once again. "How thoughtless of me - and such a lovely woman, too!"

"Thank you, Q."

"You're welcome." They clinked their goblets together and drank their blood wine in companionable silence.

 

The End


End file.
